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FAME.
85
"For myself I do not argue," said I, "though I love yon, Madam,—
But for better souls, that nearer to the height of yours have trod—
And this ago shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam,
Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.
*****
But at last there came a pause. I stood all vibrating with thunder,
Which my soul had used. The silence drew her face up like a call.
Could you guess what word she uttered? She looked up as if in wonder,
With tears beaded on her lashes, and said "Bertram!" it was all.
But for better souls, that nearer to the height of yours have trod—
And this ago shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam,
Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.
*****
But at last there came a pause. I stood all vibrating with thunder,
Which my soul had used. The silence drew her face up like a call.
Could you guess what word she uttered? She looked up as if in wonder,
With tears beaded on her lashes, and said "Bertram!" it was all.
If she had cursed me—and she might have—or if even, with queenly bearing,
Which at need is used by women, she had risen up and said,
"Sir, you are my guest, and therefore, I have given you a full hearing—
Now, beseech you, choose a name exacting somewhat less, instead"—
Which at need is used by women, she had risen up and said,
"Sir, you are my guest, and therefore, I have given you a full hearing—
Now, beseech you, choose a name exacting somewhat less, instead"—
I had borne it I—but that "Bertram"—"why, it lies there on the paper
A mere word, without her accents,—and you cannot judge the weight
Of the calm which crushed my passion! I seemed swimming in a vapour,—
And her gentleness did shame me, whom her scorn made desolate.
*****
A mere word, without her accents,—and you cannot judge the weight
Of the calm which crushed my passion! I seemed swimming in a vapour,—
And her gentleness did shame me, whom her scorn made desolate.
*****
After this what follows is not difficult to guess; and it does not come as a surprise to learn this solution of her words:—
Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her—
And she whispered low in triumph—It shall be as I have sworn!
Very rich he is in virtues,—very noble—noble, certes;
And I shall not blush in knowing, that men call him lowly born!
And she whispered low in triumph—It shall be as I have sworn!
Very rich he is in virtues,—very noble—noble, certes;
And I shall not blush in knowing, that men call him lowly born!
The poverty of the plot, the improbability of the whole story, the author's frequent ignorance of worldly matters, the faulty and too long deferred rhymes, lapses in the rhythm and occasional commonplaces, all vanish in the passionate glow of thought, in the rush of burning words, and the magnificent flood of imaginative
